


the world will never take my heart

by mjonesing (klassmartin)



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Powers, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Found Family, Gen, Michelle Jones is Tired, Mild Stabbing, Not necessary to have seen the show, On the Run, Pre-Relationship, Someone Help Her, Umbrella Academy AU, Umbrella Academy Universe, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klassmartin/pseuds/mjonesing
Summary: “Who put me here?” she whispers, unable to lift her head against the pounding ache that swells in her brain.“Ned. We figured you probably drained yourself with all that…” Peter flutters his fingers in the air. “It’s pretty cool, you know.”“Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?”“Frequently.” He rights himself just enough to nod at the same protein bar and water bottle that he’d offered her the night before. “You gonna trust me enough to have that yet?”“It’s probably poisoned,” she mutters, but she’s so parched that she grabs the bottle anyway, the lid snapping open pointedly. She paces herself, knowing it’s better to ease herself back in terms of hydration. Once she’s drained half of it, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Can I leave yet?”“Sure, if you wanna die.”Michelle rolls her eyes. “Hilarious.”“I’m not joking.” Peter chews on another piece of popcorn. “You go out of that door, and you’re toast without us.”-----Or: The Umbrella Academy AU (ish)
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	the world will never take my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEEK! I hope you have a lovely day and a wonderful year <3
> 
> So this fic has been on my mind for approximately six million years, when someone sent you an ask about doing an Umbrella Academy AU and you were like, ew to the incest, but mjonesing? And I LATCHED ON TO THAT. Have been planning ever since. So this is Umbrella Academy adjacent - same universe, but with all of the comic people I could think of that you adore. I don't know a huge amount about them but I hope I did a semi-decent job of juggling that many characters. 
> 
> ALSO I tried to give them all powers that were similar to their canon ones/matched their personalities.

As lives go, Michelle has led a pretty subdued one.

So she’s been alone for a lot of it, and the place she currently calls home is a quiet corner of an abandoned church. She doesn’t really _do_ people, not when history has proven them to be so unkind to her. She has an acquaintance in the boy who works the night shift at the general store down the block, who gives her a stale loaf or a few unsellable vegetables from time to time. Plus there’s Greg, the bus driver who pretends to not see her slip onto the 616 bus every Tuesday and Friday night. That’s all she needs - a couple of kind souls in the midst of billions of lost or dark ones.

Her own company is enough to keep her content. That and the books she borrows from the library.

She’s fine, is the point.

Her life is quiet, but there’s nothing wrong with that.

She’d rather that than the alternative.

* * *

She shines her new apple on the lapel of her coat before taking a bit, savouring the taste of her first real meal of the day. The sharp taste works perfectly to wash away how dry her throat is, and the warmth of a setting sun permeates her chilled skin.

Socks. Damn. She forgot to pick up socks.

There’s no time, now. Maybe she can pick some up during tomorrow’s errands.

The walk back to the church is a pleasant one, the town settling down into it’s quiet buzz of activity instead of the bustle of daytime. The air is sweet with the local bakery preparing their morning pastries. To Michelle’s left there’s a flower shop with a forgotten pail of wilting roses, and she swipes a yellow bud that might be able to be saved.

It’ll be nice, having something else alive in her space, brightening the beiges and greys with it’s sunshine shades.

But -

Michelle stops, every muscle rigid.

Did she hear something? Or was it just the wind?

She takes another step, clunky and uneven, then another when there continues to be no noise.

Except three steps later it’s there again; a whisper in the breeze, a caress to her ears, gone as soon as it arrived. 

This time she doesn’t stop. She can’t. She has to keep going.

She won’t be caught. Not again.

Ten paces later and the whisper is louder, out of focus but encroaching on her even as she picks up her pace. She unlocks the butcher’s door and slips inside, ducking under the counter and making a grab for a knife big enough to inflict damage but small enough to conceal. There’s a back exit next to the cooler, her footfalls silent as she makes her way there.

The bell chimes with the arrival of her pursuer just as she grabs the handle, and she pauses, straining her ears.

One set of footsteps. That’s okay. Better than multiple assailants.

She concentrates hard to make sure the door doesn’t squeak as it opens. The night air is infinitely cooler once she enters it again, but she slips off her coat and throws it into the dumpster in favour of the thin sweater beneath, pulling the hood up to conceal her face. She takes a moment to block the alley with the loose palettes and boxes littering the space, then runs out to the main street, heart pounding as she turns right and heads towards the church.

It doesn’t take her long to get there, head twitching back with every twist and turn in the road. There’s no sign of anyone taking an interest in her, yet she won’t let up - she’s through the heavy doors in minutes, cursing her decision to camp out in the back corner even if it is by an escape route of its own.

Collecting the few items she’s still attached to, she stuffs them into her backpack and throws on a few extra layers, her heavy breaths echoing around the hall. There’s a cold sweat breaking out across her skin; a sure sign that this isn’t the end of troubles - it’s just the beginning.

A creak. A thump. A scrape.

Michelle lets the blade slide from her sleeve, back into her hand. Her pulse pounds in her ears but she fights to stay calm. She needs her wits about her if she’s going to get out of this alive.

The footsteps are closer now, and she can feel the piercing of their gaze on the back of her neck. She doesn’t move, even when her body is screaming at her to run as fast as can, because she’s been in this position enough to know that what she will do next is a card best played when she can inflict maximum damage with minimal distance.

The knife rises, twists, and -

An explosion erupts to her left, something hot and bright skimming the top of her head. When she drops to avoid a second shot, the doors shatter in and suddenly there’s way more people in the room. It’s chaos, noises and sights she’s never seen before - can’t even begin to understand - engulfing her temporary home. 

She can work with chaos.

She snatches back the knife and takes advantage of the distraction, dragging a pew to the door and blocking off the exit she’s eager to take. Something - someone? Is that a head of brown hair? - swings from the rafters from a rope, aiming another that comes from nowhere around the raised fist of an older man, someone else zapping him with a bolt of electricity that has him screaming. A boneless leg wraps around the man’s ankle and then he’s falling, colliding with the unforgiving stone of the floor with an audible crack of bone and gush of blood.

The things she’s seeing - they should be impossible.

But she knows they aren’t.

She just never…

No. Now isn’t the time to be considering such things.

She needs to get out, _now_ , before she ends up just like their victim.

She runs as hard as she can, legs aching with exertion, right out of the door and into the night.

* * *

Michelle doesn’t stop moving for two weeks.

She can’t see them, but she knows she’s being tracked. Can feel it in every shadow. 

No matter which tactic she tries, they always catch up to her. Bus, train or car, they do not relent.

Whoever _they_ are.

It is through pure exhaustion that she finally stops, knowing she can’t maintain this momentum without a decent rest and some food that isn’t snatched from abandoned takeout meals. No matter how terrifying these people may be, she’ll never be able to defend herself if her strength isn’t up, so she waits until nightfall and breaks into a department store, tiptoeing through the aisles until she finds the display of childrens’ bed.

It’s not the best, but it’ll have to do - and it’s a damn sight comfier than the back seats of whatever bus will take her furthest.

Unfortunately, her rest doesn’t last long - how she expected it to, she’s unsure - when the clink of dropped metal jolts her awake.

“...won’t get anywhere charging in like that,” she hears a voice whisper from across the displays, somewhere near the framed art.

“Well how do you suggest we approach?” another snarks, the tone deep and husky.

“She’s armed; do you really want another knife lodged in your arm?”

“I seem to remember the first time being _your_ fault -”

“Guys! Shh! She’s awake!”

Michelle stops breathing, tightening her grip on the knife stored beneath her pillow.

“Why don’t I just go in and get it? It’s not like she’ll see -”

“Go and you’ll be dead in seconds.” 

The first voice sounds sure but dreamy, but not any closer. They’re dawdling, trying to assess, and it might be the only opportunity Michelle has to make her move. She closes her eyes and focuses on what surrounds her, reaching out and feeling for what could be the best choice, until she finds it - a loose ladder for a nearby bunk bed, large enough without inflicting too much damage to the innocent store, she hopes. 

“Johnny, don’t you dare -”

“She’s never going to respond well, we need to just go in and -”

“You’re scaring her, you need to -”

“Harry! Duck!”

The ladder flies across the room, barrelling straight into the aisle divider they’re hiding behind, and Michelle’s up and grabbing her bag before the impact is even made. She runs low, aiming a flat-pack box at the scrambling to regroup that she can hear, then another when she hears indignant shouts and the pounding of feet.

“Hey, lady! Stop! That wasn’t very nice!”

“Please, ma’am, we just want to talk -”

But another aisle is crumbling behind her, and she’s sprinting towards the back stairs because her life really does depend on it, but there’s this noise above her and she can feel someone closing in on her from the ceiling and then her foot is pulled from beneath her and -

She rolls with the force of a body colliding into her, but she’s ready; the butcher’s knife buries right into her attacker’s shoulder with a satisfying screech, and then she’s heaving them off of her and stumbling back to her feet, pain flaring in her leg that she can’t afford to feel.

“She stabbed me! I’ve been stabbed!”

“That’s what you get for _tackling_ her! This isn’t a football game, Harry!”

A sob rips out of her chest as her ankle gives way, barely managing to catch herself on a dining table display. “Leave me alone!” she begs, too tired to hold it in any longer.

A face appears right in front of her, hanging upside down with a long ponytail and a snide smile. “I’d have considered that if you hadn’t just hurt my friend.”

Setting her jaw, Michelle musters everything she has and throws the table up, display plates shattering all around her, cutting into her sleeves, but the cutlery doesn’t quite touch the ground - Michelle cries out as she aims them at the group slowly closing in on her, forks and knives and spoons all zeroing in on the bodies she can’t quite make out through the tears welling in her eyes.

“Felicia!”

Something expands, high and wide and black as the night, taking every hit Michelle’s aimed their way without a sound.

Shit. _Shit_. She’s so screwed.

At the very least, the group are trapped behind whatever _that_ was, so she pulls herself up and makes another run for it, her whole body screaming in protest now that she’s truly exhausted herself, but she has to keep going, keep going, just a little further -

And then she sees it.

Tucked into the back corner of this stupid store in a two-bit town, primed and ready for the ultimate assault.

Bullets.

It might be extreme, but if ever a situation calls for seeing how much force she can throw a bullet, today seems like the best attempt.

She aims with her hand, the glass display case shattering as dozens of different shapes and sizes rise, tremble, primed and ready for her to -

“No! Please, no!”

Everything stops.

Silence falls, the only noise daring to disturb it being the tinkling of glass shards against the polished floor.

“Pull back,” a girl orders, possibly the first whisper she’d heard. “No one takes another step.”

More silence, then a deeper voice from high above. “How many, Gwen?”

“All of you,” Gwen responds, hollow yet full of grief. “This isn’t the way.”

The bullets begin to shake, Michelle whimpering as she struggles with her concentration. She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her; what these people hope to achieve. Why are they after her? What has she possibly done? She’s kept her head down for years now, never making even a ripple with her presence wherever she goes. 

But they’re still after her.

Why?

“What’s our best move? What about Betty?”

“Stop talking; she’s trying.” This voice is new, softer, a shorter blonde girl with a fierce expression. The grounded of the group are partially hidden, but she can feel she’s being watched from above - someone’s perched on the fluorescent light nearby, another just behind with a third on top of a display to her right. It’s suffocating her; she’s trapped and she’s so, so tired; too tired to figure out the situation she finds herself in using whatever clues they’ve let slip.

She lets some of the bullets go, out of necessity instead of feeling less threatened. They clatter to the ground, drawing the attention of one of the people who she recognises from the church.

“Ned,” Gwen says to him, small and hesitant. “You go.”

“Aye-aye, captain.”

He stretches out the muscles of his neck before attempting to approach her, one eye warily fixed on the last of her protection, and when he’s only a few feet away she sees he’s just a boy - no older than her, really, dressed all in black but with a smile she could be fooled into thinking was kind. There’s a looseness to his shoulders, like he isn’t scared of her despite what he’s seen her do - like he’s seen this all a dozen times before.

“Hey, there.” The boy crouches down at a distance, hands up in surrender. “I’m Ned, and I’m not here to hurt you.”

Michelle flinches away, curling in on herself despite his assurances. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry we scared you. We didn’t mean to.” He sits down, offers her a more sincere smile. “We want to help.”

“By hunting me across the country?” He has the decency to look ashamed at that, but Michelle isn’t one to be so easily fooled. “What do you want?”

“To help. You’re -”

“Shit.” That voice - Gwen? - calls from a distance. “Ned, we gotta go. Cops are closing in.”

“You called the cops?” Michelle scrambles back, blindly grabbing for her dropped bag.

“No! No, we -” Ned turns, seemingly desperate. “I need more time! Can’t we stall them?”

But Michelle is already up and running, crashing into the fire escape door and setting off into the night.

* * *

She runs for an hour with nothing but adrenaline to keep her going, until the flashing of blue lights are long behind her and she can no longer hear the sirens echoing off the buildings. She collapses behind a stack of bins, gasping and weak, her vision flickering as her eyes fight to close for rest. 

She doesn’t have time to sleep, can’t afford to risk her life that way, but she’s so… She’s so tired…

“Not here.”

Michelle jolts up, looking all around for the owner of the voice, but she cannot see anyone.

Not until she blinks, and then a boy is materialising in front of her like he’s stepping through a portal. He looks her over with a hesitant eye but eventually extends his hand. “The name’s Miles, and I’m not interested in hurting you. Come on, I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

Michelle grips her bag a little tighter. “Why would I trust you?”

“Because if you don’t come with me now, the guy you stabbed is going to make you. And you stabbed him. So he’s pissed.”

* * *

Miles holds her by the wrist for the whole walk, strolling along with a quiet confidence despite the mess they’ve made just a few blocks away. It takes a moment for her to realise why; they walk right by a rowdy group of men without them reacting for a moment.

They’re invisible. Michelle and Miles are… Invisible.

Huh.

The trip isn’t too long by regular standards, but it feels like climbing a mountain to her. Even when she sees the motel sign shining in the distance, clearly their destination, she can’t fathom an end to this torture - not until Miles lets her go so he can grab a room key from his back pocket, glancing both ways before unlocking the door and ushering her inside.

There’s two people in there, playing with a pack of cards on the bed that they promptly put away. One is Ned, the other a boy she doesn’t recall seeing before. Miles nods towards them and wordlessly leaves the room, closing the door firmly in a clear signal for Michelle to stay put.

“What do you people want?” Her voice shakes, so she clears her throat and tries again. “Why am I here?”

“We want to help.” Ned points to himself, then his friend. “I’m Ned - we’ve met - and this is Peter.”

Peter regards her as she presses herself into the wall. “Nice to meet you, finally. What’s your name?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Okay, okay.” He chuckles, reaching for a bag discarded at the side of the bed. He pulls something from its depths. “Here. You look like you could do with some food and water.”

“I’m fine.”

“Stubborn.” Peter turns back to his friend. “Why are we always stubborn?”

“ _We_ are nothing. _You_ are bad people, and _I_ have been kidnapped by some - some insane branch of - what, are you with those Academy people?”

“No, but we’re people like them. See?” Ned holds up his hand and electricity crackles between his fingertips. “We all have a gift. Just like you.”

“I don’t have a gift.” Michelle tears her gaze away from the intense stares, looking longingly out of the open curtains. “Is that why you hunted me down? For what I can do? Because I’m not interested.”

“We’re not asking you to join us, we’re offering you help -”

“Stop saying that!” Michelle yells. “You keep saying it but I don’t _need_ your help! The only thing I needed was for you to stop following me, and when I walk out of that door in three seconds that’s exactly what you’re going to do!”

She’s halfway out when Peter blurts it out. “You can’t leave!”

“I can’t?” 

Michelle steps towards him, close enough to see how serious he is as he says, “There are people hunting us down. Ever since Hargreeves outed us, there’s been a collective intent on wiping us out, and they’re doing pretty well so far.”

“12 are dead, to our knowledge,” Ned continues, “They’re the ones who sent that man after you - but we found a way of tracing them, and when we did, we found you.”

“We took him out of the picture,” Peter says quietly; maybe even remorsefully. “But you got away before we could explain, and they’ve been more determined than ever to find you again ever since. We haven’t been hunting _you;_ we’ve been hunting them. Eventually, we found a way to get ahead, hoping we could talk to you and… Well, tonight happened.”

Michelle can barely take any of it in, trying to sift through the information they’re piling on her when she’s at her weakest. The only thing she retains is _hunting us_ and _they know who you are._

“There are - I don’t - I… I can’t…”

She crumbles, the world going black as she drops to the floor.

* * *

When she comes to, she’s in the same room but it’s daylight outside. And she’s in a bed. A pretty comfy bed, even, and her shoes are off.

“Ah, look who’s finally decided to join us!” In the far corner sits Peter, feet thrown up on the foot of the mattress as he attempts to catch the popcorn he throws into the air with his mouth. “Feeling better?”

“Who put me here?” she whispers, unable to lift her head against the pounding ache that swells in her brain.

“Ned. We figured you probably drained yourself with all that…” Peter flutters his fingers in the air. “It’s pretty cool, you know.”

“Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?”

“Frequently.” He rights himself just enough to nod at the same protein bar and water bottle that he’d offered her the night before. “You gonna trust me enough to have that yet?”

“It’s probably poisoned,” she mutters, but she’s so parched that she grabs the bottle anyway, the lid snapping open pointedly. She paces herself, knowing it’s better to ease herself back in terms of hydration. Once she’s drained half of it, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Can I leave yet?”

“Sure, if you wanna die.”

Michelle rolls her eyes. “Hilarious.”

“I’m not joking.” Peter chews on another piece of popcorn. “You go out of that door, and you’re toast without us.”

“I think I prefer Ned. He has a better bedside manner.” Michelle leans back on the headboard, holding her knees to her chest. “So, uh… You guys all have… Powers?”

“Yup.”

“What can you do?”

Peter grins like a small child suddenly, jumping out of his seat, prepared to show off. “You ready?”

She nods, and then Peter walks to the wall and - continues walking? He takes a stroll up the wall, then onto the ceiling, all while eating his popcorn.

Ah. So he’s one of the people from the ceiling.

Peter jumps back down to the floor, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “What do you think?”

She waves her hand in a so-so motion. “Eh.”

“Oh, really?” Peter laughs. “Well you’re not that impressive, either.”

“Seem to remember someone saying it was ‘pretty cool’ a few minutes ago.” She reaches out to snatch the popcorn packet from his grasp, taking it triumphantly from the air and throwing two kernels into her mouth. “Yum.”

“It’s fine.” Peter’s grin is infectious, so much so that Michelle almost mirrors it. “So, do I get to know your name now?”

She hesitates, but the drink has rejuvenated her and she’s feeling a little more agreeable after her sleep. “It’s MJ.”

“MJ,” Peter repeats, testing it out. “Nice.”

“Peter,” she says quietly, sobering to her reality, “Am I really going to die?”

He approaches her, perching on the edge of the bed and reaching for her hand until he thinks better of it. “I’m not going to let that happen. _We_ aren’t going to let that happen.”

“You’re really so sure in yourselves?” Michelle stares down into her lap, glancing up to see him soften further, something she can’t place falling over him.

“We’ve been looking after each other for two years now. That’s what we do.”

And maybe it’s the sincerity that flows from him, or the way there’s a pain hidden in his words, or maybe just that, for the first time, she’s not completely alone; there’s never been anyone who can understand her, not when she’s forced to hide such a vital part of herself.

Yet now there’s this group who get it, who might accept her for who she is.

“Okay. Let’s do this - lead the way.”

* * *

Peter leads her into an adjoining room, where eight people are loitering and trying to not look suspicious; like they haven’t been listening at the door the whole time.

“Guys, this is MJ. MJ, this is… Everyone. You know Ned and Miles already, and there’s Harry; our resident Mr Strong who got on the wrong side of your knife. Felicia, who’s ridiculously stretchy, and Cindy here can produce an organic substance from her fingertips, like a spider’s silk. Johnny likes fire, Betty has some seriously tough skin and Gwen is… Well, basically, she’s a precog.”

The girl in question sighs. “It’s not precognition, Peter; I just… Get a feeling.”

“Same difference.”

“Not really.” Gwen steps towards her, offering her hand to shake with a kind smile. “It’s nice to meet you, MJ.”

She cringes a little as she looks about the group, stopping on a disgruntled Harry who’s nursing his wounded arm. “Yeah, uh. Sorry about the whole stabby thing.”

“He forgives you,” Cindy says before Harry can voice whatever he wants to say. “Or he will, when he stops whining like a baby.”

“I was _stabbed_ -”

“Shh.” Betty waves her hand at his protests. “This isn’t about you right now. It’s MJ’s moment.”

“Uh… I don’t need a moment. I’m fine.”

Felicia, previously sat stoic in the corner, mutters, “You’ll need one in a minute.”

Peter’s touch is like a feather at her elbow, guiding her to the end of one of the twin beds. Only when she’s seated does she realise the silence of the room, the group letting Peter lead as he bends down in front of her and chews on his bottom lip. 

Eventually, he says, “What do you know, about who we are?”

“I don’t… Until you guys I didn’t even realise there _was_ a ‘we’ to know anything about.”

He ducks his head, wiping a hand down his face, so Ned steps forward. “What’s your birthday, MJ?”

“Excuse me?”

“The day you were born. What was the date?”

She frowns. “October 1st, 1989.”

But she trails off, because there are nine other voices in the room saying, “October 1st, 1989.”

“Okay, weirdos. How did you know that?”

“Because it’s my birthday,” Ned says.

“Mine too,” Betty says, as Miles chimes in with a, “My birthday as well!”

“And my birthday,” Peter adds. “We all have the same birthday. The same origins; a mother who wasn’t pregnant until she was suddenly giving birth.”

“You’re saying… What are you saying?” Hot tears swell in her eyes, her entire world falling apart at the seams the more she hears. “Someone did this? Someone made this happen?”

“We don’t know,” Peter says honestly, “But what matters is that we stick together. We can protect each other better when we’re together.”

His hand squeezes hers, warming the chill that’s laced into her bones from years on the streets, alone and scared. Her brain screams at her to run, to leave behind the madness that has engulfed her life with this group’s arrival, but there’s something stronger in her chest, something that whispers that she doesn’t have to be alone, not anymore.

Cindy nudges Peter with her foot. “Tell her the story.”

“There’s a story?” Michelle wipes at her wet cheeks, watching Peter’s soft smile with hopeful eyes. “I like stories.”

“Alright. Story time.” Peter grips her hand a little tighter before letting go, settling back on the balls of his feet. “I was just a kid, living with my Aunt and Uncle when Hargreeves made the announcement. My Aunt and Uncle, they were good to me, but by revealing powered people to the world there was just… Chaos. He either didn’t take into account the repercussions, or he just… Didn’t care.”

“Just going to stop you right there, my friend,” Ned says, then looks to Michelle. “He has a lot of anger towards that douchebag. Well, we all do, clearly.”

“Some things happened,” Peter continues, his expression haunted in a way she inexplicably understands. “Seeing the Umbrella Academy on TV, it changed everything. Suddenly I realised I wasn’t alone - there were other people like me. And then I thought; there has to be even more of us. Ones who didn’t get to be family, but were outsiders, freaks, made to hide who they are because the world will never accept them. I went out on my own across the country; bumped into Ned by chance, really. Ned had some contacts, got us in touch with Harry. Then these people came after us - we still don’t know who they are, but Ned’s good with tech so we started working on a way to evade them. From there, it became a rescue mission. Everyone else has been picked up along the way, and now we’re like a little superpowered family, taking on the bad guys.”

“And these bad guys are after me now.” Michelle can barely hold all of the new information in her head, rubbing at her sore temples. “And you want me to, what, join this weird little dysfunctional team in exchange for protection?”

“You don’t have to join us, but it’s your best shot at surviving,” Johnny says. “Whatever you decide, we’re going to help you.”

“It’s not an exchange,” Gwen says softly. “We aren’t going to let another one of us die.”

Miles gives her a clap on the shoulder. “But we could use your help.”

“Yeah, I mean…” Felicia sighs reluctantly. “I guess your whole telekinesis vibe might be kinda… Okay.”

“You can say cool, Felicia. It won’t hurt you.”

“Bite me, Betty.”

“Make me.”

“Oh, would both of you please grow up. We’re trying to -”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Ned turns back to Michelle with a gasp. “You’re in?”

Michelle jumps to her feet, her confusion making way for a hot white fury that has the closet doors trembling in their hinges. “I’ve been running since I was thirteen years old. That’s five years of my life, fighting for the right to live. These people think they’re going to take that away from me? That I’ll go without a fight? They thought damn wrong. I deserve to live. _We_ deserve to live. So, yeah. I’m in. Let’s get the bastards.”

Eight sets of eyes bounce around the room, all nodding to each of their friends. Ned whoops loudly while Peter gives her a devastating grin, taking her hand again to run his thumb over her knuckles. The doors stop shaking, the glasses on the dresser no longer tinkle together in their tray - she’s calm.

Everything’s going to be okay. 

Her life’s in danger, but so what? It’s always been in danger.

For now, at least, she has people to watch her back.

“I feel a group hug coming on,” Ned says emotionally.

“No,” nine voices chorus in reply.

“Hands in?”

“No.”

“Just do it, guys, before he makes us do something worse.”

There’s a grumble, but then the group gather in, piling their hands messily in the centre of their circle. Johnny sighs. “Harry, get your ass over here now.”

“What? No! I’m not teaming up with her.”

“Why?!”

_“She stabbed me!”_

“Oh, please. The first time I met you I punched you in the face.”

“I clean knocked you out.”

“Yeah, dude. You’re pretty annoying.”

**Author's Note:**

> @mjonesing on Tumblr as always


End file.
